Tatsam Mukherjee

One tends to forget how formal and dull a majority of mainstream filmmaking has become until a true-blue swashbuckling director comes along and destroys our notions of what films should look like. It happened to me during the opening stretch of Danny Boyle’s 28 Years Later, which begins with a strange corner-angle shot (by Boyle’s regular, Anthony Dod Mantle) showing a bunch of children, cramped into one room, watching an episode of Teletubbies. The handy cam aesthetic paints dread into the visual – as does the commotion outside as we hear elders scream at each other. And suddenly the door breaks, and in classic Boyle fashion, we’re racing through narrow hallways, to open fields with the “infected” chasing a young boy called Jimmy. It’s a sublime opening sequence filled with paranoia, thrill and weighty subtext, as Jimmy’s father – a priest praying inside the local church – awaits these undead (zombies), calling it his judgement day.

In R.S. Prasanna’s Sitaare Zameen Par, pegged as a spiritual sequel to Taare Zameen Par (2008), Aamir Khan doesn’t want to leave anything to chance. So, in a slapstick scene, Khan’s character Gulshan Arora – a perpetually irate, foul-tempered, confrontational basketball coach – is barking instructions to his player. It’s the final few seconds of the game, and the scorecard shows the teams neck and neck, this one penalty shot might seal the game for Arora’s team. He screams – Be mindful! This is our only chance! You’re our Arjun, so keep your eyes on the prize! This whole game rests on you making the shot! After a point even the player, Satbir (Aroush Datta), gets tired and tells Khan’s character to shut up. As the gag ends with people giggling around him, Khan in his own exaggerated manner gulps down the humiliation – without the slightest hint that his latest film is similarly verbose and patronising towards its audience.

Nia (Dheera Johnson) is scared. In the first scene of Subhadra Mahajan’s Second Chance, we hear the protagonist’s voice over a black screen. She’s calling Kabir – her partner, presumably. She’s pregnant, and doesn’t know what to do. “Please call me back when you see this,” she drops him a text, one of the many that have gone unanswered. The screen comes to life, and she’s in the middle of thick snow. It takes a while for us to register that she’s in some remote corner in Himachal Pradesh. As details trickle down, we learn that Nia comes from a rich Delhi family, who own a holiday home in the hills. Overcome with fear about the pregnancy, Nia flees from the capital. With limited network coverage in the home (near a bedroom window), a silent boyfriend, and seemingly supportive-yet-distant parents, Nia finds her refuge among the caretaker family of the home: Raju (Rajesh Singh), his son Sunny (Kanav Thakur) and mother-in-law Bhemi (Thakri Devi).

“Dating is not (a) serious (business),” John (Chris Evans) tells Lucy (Dakota Johnson) at one point in Celine Song’s sophomore directorial venture, Materialists. He could try telling this to those in their 20s and 30s who spend an inordinate amount of time on dating apps, matrimonial sites, and social media – consuming other people’s proposals, cocktail parties, pre-wedding shoots, gender-reveals. While most (especially those in proximity to the therapy discourse these days) are able to articulate their likes and dislikes, identifying socio-economic backgrounds and political leanings, one also risks being almost hyper self-aware (and self-indulgent) while searching for a partner. In the history of mankind, this is arguably the most cynicism we might have seen around concepts like love, marriage, fulfilment through a partner. The wild, wild west is nothing compared to modern dating – something Lucy knows better than most. Few people are willing to compromise on preferences, making their mental checklists that much more knotty.

Karan Tejpal’s Stolen might look like a thriller on the surface. But if one pays attention, it reveals itself as a survival film. For the uninitiated, a survival film is a subgenre of films telling tales of a character surviving an adventure gone awry. In Stolen, the misadventure entails residing in India in the 2020s. A nation with obscene inequalities, a broken law-and-order system that couldn’t be less bothered about the people who need it the most, and a culture that is a sinister concoction of ancient traditionalism and new-age apathy – India in the 2020s is a whole new beast. It’s a place that has picked up the vocabulary of empathy, privilege and virtue-signalling from the West, but one where fans of a cricket team throng a stadium and remorselessly stomp over dozens of people – as a part of their ‘celebration’.

Even though it is widely known, I don’t think enough gets written about how much of a nightmare it is to watch a film in its ‘purest’ form in India. One can overlook the overzealous censors that infantilise the audience with humongous smoking warnings, even for films rated ‘A’, desecrating the work of any self-respecting filmmaker. Along with that, most ambitious films play in sparsely-populated theatres. The screening for Karan Kandhari’s Sister Midnight that I attended in Bengaluru had about a dozen audience members. I have a feeling I would’ve enjoyed the film more if I’d seen it in a packed theatre because it has many visual gags, and most of them are spot on. Also, muted cuss words can feel like sensory speed bumps even if one can decipher them by reading the lip movement. I wondered how the British-Indian director reacted to the alterations? But hey, at least the film released, unlike Sandhya Suri’s Santosh (2024).

It says something about a star, when a close-up of their weathered face becomes the multiplex poster of the last two films of a $4 billion franchise. Whatever one might think of Tom Cruise, it’s saying something that his face is all the advertising these films need. Why should we watch it? Because it has Cruise, who will be attempting something no one else ever has done in a film. The action set-pieces in the Mission: Impossible franchise have always been the focal point, enveloped in a jargon-addled plot whose flimsiness wouldn’t survive the faintest probes of logic. Their function is to only add emotional stakes to Cruise’s daredevilry. Ethan Hunt – should he choose to accept – needs to steal something from a facility impossible to break into, to either clear his name, save a loved one or avert a nuclear disaster.

There’s something off about Pushkar Mahabal and Hemal Thakkar’s Black White & Gray from the very beginning. A pronounced foreign accent asking questions from behind a camera, to cops about an unsolved murder case that we’re told took place in Nagpur, in 2020. The talking heads (a sub-inspector and an assistant sub-inspector) seem rehearsed in their responses to questions – almost like they’re acting badly. I wondered if they made the people repeat their answers more than once, which caused the lack of spontaneity. The voice-over featuring the ‘types of India’ sounded almost too generic and lazy by a foreigner. Even the cutting between the fictitious recreations and the interviews felt almost too neat and narrativised, and not something that was discovered in the edit. And then it took me till the start of episode four to pause and properly read the show’s disclaimer, addressing it all as a work of ‘fiction’.